


Golden Gleam

by Duckgirl999 (orphan_account)



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Background Logicality - Freeform, F/F, How do I stop tagging?, I'll edit these tags later, M/M, Prinxiety - Freeform, Roceit (sorta), demus - Freeform, dukeceit, inspired by instagram, probably about 30k words by the end (no promises), recipe.for.thomathy was the inspirer, rich people doin rich people stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:33:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26274166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Duckgirl999
Summary: Roman is heir to a wealthy oil company run by his family, and so they betroth him to the heir to an equally-influential trading company. But when the two of them fall for other people without knowing it, problems arise. Can any of them really achieve their happy ending, with their parents puppeteering the scene? And what will they have to sacrifice?Inspired by recipe.for.thomathy's post on Instagram from 8/20/20. However, the post will contain spoilers, of course.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders (in a way), Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	1. Roman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah! I started a big project that isn't angst. Look at me branching out.
> 
> I don't have a set number of chapters or words that I want to achieve, but the benefit of inspired works is that I know how the story ends. So I'll just write until I'm happy with the way it ended. As for update speeds... we'll see. I thought I would have more time to work on this because, eLearning and all that, but IB is kicking my ass and I had 122 trig problems to do in a night and I ended up getting so stressed that I got myself sick. (Round of applause for that one, baby.)
> 
> Explanation for the chapter title: I am going to do the name of the character whose POV it will be told from. Maybe that'll make it easier to keep track of what I'm doing, haha.
> 
> Note: This is NOT RemRom in any way. I do not write RemRom. Ever.
> 
> So, TW: Remus saying kinky shit, swearing, homophobia mention. Do NOT look up what Remus was talking about if you value your peace of mind and whatever happens to be in your stomach.

The morning was silent and the air was crisp as Roman rose from his bed. He was up unusually early and the hotel room was saturated with white, making it feel sterile and bare. His bare feet padded across the abnormally shiny tiles and he opened the sliding door to the balcony with a slight shiver.

He stepped through and shut the door behind him. He looked out over Columbus, at the Ohio River and the surrounding buildings. The city was still sedate in the early morning but it buzzed with a familiar energy. He let his eyes flutter shut and just breathed it in for a few moments, but the cold soon became uncomfortable and he padded back inside.

As he was getting dressed for the day, there was a knock on his door. “Mr. Prince?”

“Yes?”

“Your parents have requested that you meet them in the lobby shortly.”

“I understand. Thank you.” This was not a request, he knew, so he finished as quickly as he could, almost nicking himself in his rush to shave. He braced himself to face his parents.

Roman entered with his head held stiffly high as he stepped across the plateau of sterile tiles. His mother stopped him shortly before they went into the view of the cameras.

“Chin up, shoulders back, posture perfect,” she said, not unloving, placing a warm hand at the base of his spine to correct his stance. Her plastic hair moved a degree and she smoothed it back unnecessarily. She smiled. “A true prince.”

“Let’s get on with it,” his father snapped. Impatient as ever.

That’s what wealth does to a person, Roman supposed. Introduce a man (or anyone, really) to constant comfort and they will never stop wanting more, better, pricier, rarer, faster.

He didn’t have much time to dwell on it. As soon as they made their way outside, the paparazzi were swarming like vultures on a carcass.

Much of the next few minutes were a blur of camera flashes and shouted questions. The questions were the same as ever: “Is Remus with you?” “How do you feel about the recent surge in the Prince oil stock?” “Is it true Roman is getting married soon?” Roman’s father looked straight ahead and carved a path through the crowd effortlessly, leaving a wake for Roman and his mother to trail behind. They got into a sleek sports car, a Lamborghini, by the looks of it. Roman climbed in with a sudden feeling of awkwardness (which he quickly shoved down).

As they made their way to the Hotel LeVeque, Roman’s father spoke suddenly. “Take a right here.” The driver complied and pulled over into a nearby parking lot, outside of a J. Crew. Roman frowned.

His father gave him a short glance. “You need a better tie than that one. Come with me.” 

They returned from the store shortly thereafter with a new navy blue tie that Roman admittedly quite liked, despite his slight irritation at his father’s lack of respect for his fashion sense.

For a moment, there was silence, save for the clack of Roman’s father’s footsteps against the worn pavement of the parking lot. Then the squeal of tires could be heard, as an obnoxiously loud, very _green_ 1987 Plymouth Barracuda came barrelling into the parking lot with reckless abandon, its driver giggling and twitching.

Remus was wearing his Kamina sunglasses, as green as the car, and Roman wondered vaguely how he well he could see colour through them. His outfit was bad-boy-chic: leather jacket, button-up, Doc Martens, and a sort of confidence that bordered on stupidity (a trademark of his). His white streak shone in the sun.

“YO, WHADDUP BITCH?” Remus yelled cheerily. “GET IN!” 

“Roman,” his father warned, but Roman’s face was already splitting into a wide smile, and he slid into the front seat with a seamless movement. The cries of their father were left in the dust and Remus pulled back onto open roads.

  
__________

  
“So, brother dear, how is it to be a capitalist slave to a society that doesn’t love you?” Remus said blithely.

“Could be worse. How is it to be an ostracised bastard of society?”

Remus dramatically inhaled, then sighed. “Mmm. Freeing.”

Roman laughed. 

Remus had been this way ever since they were kids. Back when their family was a slight bit less rich than they were at the present, the twins went to a public school. From kindergarten to the sixth grade, Remus was the troublemaker of the class: a wild, reckless youngster who found it funny when grownups yelled and didn’t mind having his privileges taken away from him. The teachers had eventually resigned themselves to this. There was simply no way to punish him.

Their father, a contract employee for a crude oil company, had found a chance oil reserve in the most poverty-stricken part of Nigeria when they were in seventh grade. They went from being a regular family to being the richest on the block, which they owned most of. The twins were put into a private Catholic school, but even then, Remus found small ways to rebel. He rearranged the sign in front of the school. He spelled out raunchy things in the Bibles using blackout poetry. He had a seemingly never-ending line of boyfriends, which the administration particularly hated. 

But the worst was when they asked him what he was going to do for Lent. There was a school-wide assembly every year, a ceremony of sorts, where every student was asked to tell the others what they were doing as an accountability system. It was bullshit to begin with, of course; Lent is immensely personal and so a lot of kids lied about what they were going to do out of embarrassment or spite. But Roman would never forget the look on their faces after Remus announced he was giving up church services for forty days. 

Their parents were immeasurably mad and so they decided not to pay for his college, which he didn’t mind. He had enough talent to become a freelance tattoo artist, and he had become famous in his own right. And Roman was truly proud of him.

“So, are we actually heading to the Hotel LeVeque? I can’t afford to miss the meeting.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Ah, your little _engagement._ What’s the deal with that again?”

“Well, I still haven’t found a wife yet-“

(“Even though you want a husband,” Remus muttered. Roman ignored him.)

“-so they figured they could use that to their advantage. I’m getting matched up with someone from a trading company.”

“Which trading company?”

“Williams.”

“Jesus. Literally. Those guys are stricter than a straitjacket.” He paused. “So you don’t know who it is?”

“…nope.”

“When is it?”

“Two days.”

“What if they do something weird or gross like Alabama Hot Pockets?”

“I do NOT know what that is and I do NOT want to know. Look, Remus, it’s just for looks. Honestly, if they turn out to be a total jerk or something, what’s the big deal? I can just say we’re married in public and we can do whatever we want in private. I’m basically still single but I just have another part-time job.”

Remus gave him a look. “You get attached way easily though. Is that gonna be a problem?”

“No, Remus, I promise,” he said, laughing a bit to make Remus believe him. Remus’ eyes were still on him, although the car hadn’t gone an inch off the centre of the road. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“Sure,” Remus said, drawing out the word incredulously. His eyes drifted back to the road and Roman sighed in relief. “So, what is your type, anyway? You never told me.”

“I don’t really know, to be honest. Someone who isn’t arrogant. Someone with a lot more confidence than me, to be sure, but someone who has some regard for the rules. Someone honest, someone intelligent…”

“I meant physically, you dolt.”

“Oh! Probably emo guys. With piercings.”

Remus smirked in the way that meant he was about to say something dirty. “Well, you did always like-“

For better or for worse, he was cut off by police sirens. A voice rang out behind them. “Remus and Roman Prince, please pull over to the side of the road.”

“Aw, shit,” Remus groaned, and did so. Their parents were walking up behind them. 

“Where have you been?! And what are you doing with this one?” His mother cried, jerking her head at Remus.

An innocent look smudged its way onto Remus’ face. “Nothing, Mother, we were just driving.” He elbowed Roman in the ribs.

Hurriedly, Roman pulled a similar face of innocence, which was much more convincing on him. “I’m sorry, Mother, I hadn’t seen him in a while, and I thought I could get there either way. It’s just been so long, and he _is_ my brother-“

She cut him off with a pretentious wave. “Whatever the reason, we must be going, or we’ll be late. Come on, now.”

Roman looked back at Remus, who gave an odd pained smile. “Go on, then. Let Mommy fuss over you,” he added teasingly.

Roman leaned close and whispered, “You’d better get there soon. Don’t leave me to the vultures.”

“Oh, I would never!” 

Roman glared one last time and walked back to the Lamborghini. Soon, they were back on the road, and the concrete jungle of Columbus stretched out before them. The LeVeque hotel towered in the centre, ominous in a way, and Roman shivered.

"Are you alright?" his father asked gruffly.

"Just fine," he lied.

The car continued on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to set it in Ohio as a sort of love letter to my birthplace. I live in Florida now (not far from Thomathy himself!) but I do miss Columbus. And seasons other than blazing-hurricanes-hot. Also, my soundtrack for writing this chapter was basically just Logan's playlist plus Neptune by Sleeping at Last.
> 
> This chapter's shoutout goes out to Bookwormscififan, because they have this really cool songfic series called Sanders Sides x Black Parade! They're awesome.
> 
> As always, comments, kudos, and criticism are greatly greatly appreciated! Feel free to yell at me anytime.


	2. Roman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman and Remus meander around a hotel... and run into someone particularly interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AhHhHhHh I'm sorry for taking so long! And this chapter is kinda short too :( I need to actually commit to writing a fanfiction once in a while. Oh well.
> 
> But on the bright side, I got around to publishing another chapter!! Even though trigonometry is kicking my ass!!! :) 
> 
> It's also my last day of being [current age]. So that's a thing too. I planned to write at least one more chapter before my birthday tomorrow and I made it in time! With hardly a minute to spare, because I'm a lazy procrastinator, haha.
> 
> TW for this chapter: swearing, alcohol mentions, unsympathetic parenting.

The car came to a stop in front of the hotel LeVeque, and Roman couldn’t stop himself from staring. The building was hundreds of feet tall, with an awning over the entrance that read “LeVeque Tower: Hotel LeVeque”. The decoration was gold and so wonderfully Art Deco and Roman waited with anticipation to see what was inside. 

The interior was just as luxurious, even more so. Rich burgundy sofas matched the columns of off-burgundy, white, and grey marbled stone with light built into them. A rectangular balcony stretched around the edges of the walls and overlooked the lobby. Linear art made up the chandelier and adorned the furniture. Roman turned, slowly, taking it all in. _This was where he was going to have his wedding?_ He couldn’t lie, he was impressed at the character the hotel displayed. (He was expecting something… colder. Sterile white and leather and metal, like the last hotel. Unwelcoming and aloof.)

“Close your mouth, Roman,” his mother instructed.

Roman did, but kept looking over the lobby. It was nearly empty. A few other rich-looking balding men were occupying a sofa a ways away. The receptionist was good-looking. One singular person, who looked to be the same age as himself, approached from the second floor and leaned over the golden artistic balcony, but turned on their heel upon seeing an upturned face looking back.

“The Prince family, we have the King Suite and the Junior Suite,” he heard his father say. Roman turned.

The receptionist’s spine was ramrod straight now, and she was staring at Roman’s father with barely concealed- what? Respect? Disgust? She snapped her mouth shut and nodded curtly. “One moment,” she said, and turned into a back room, emerging with two keys.

Roman scanned the balcony once or twice, but didn’t see the person return. In no time, the family was on the elevator (which was curiously embossed with the word “happiness”). Roman’s father offered him his key and Roman took it wordlessly. “206.”

Roman nodded.

The room was just as beautiful as the lobby, with its modern gold and black scheme, and Roman flopped on one of the two beds. It had the same hotel smell as the last one. It was pleasant, but Roman found himself missing the smells of home. Not necessarily the smell of their overlarge house they had now, but of the house they had lived in two houses ago until 6th grade, before Roman’s father had become rich.

A knock sounded on the door, snapping him out of his reverie. He barely had time to register who it was before a slightly unpleasant hug was pressed into his arms, and he laughed and spun Remus around. “Dude!” Roman whisper-shouted. “How did you even get in here?” He pretended to be half-concerned, but the wide smile on his face wasn’t fooling anybody. Remus spread his arms and grinned.

“I fed Mom some bullshit about how you need me there for emotional support or whatever, and she booked a room for both of us! Did you not see the two beds?” Roman shrugged, and Remus continued undeterred. “I guess they’re still surprised you’re actually going along with their plans, so they let me come as an allowance or something. Maybe they actually feel bad for kicking me out,” he joked sarcastically.

He snorted. “Right,” he drew out the word. “Well get in here!”

Remus, he quickly found, hadn’t brought a suitcase, opting instead for a backpack and two trash bags. The two of them spent an hour or two just messing around in the room, trying on the stupidly fluffy robes, examining the knickknacks on the shelves.

Roman turned to Remus. “Do you want to look around downstairs?”

He agreed emphatically, and they went to the bar upstairs, apparently called “The Keep”. It was nice, perhaps nicer than most of the bars Roman had found himself at. Like the lobby, it was mostly deserted, due mostly in part to the fact that it was only late afternoon. They slid into their seats at the bar.

Feeling eyes on him, Roman turned to see Remus giving him a mischievous smile. Roman’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Doesn’t this place… remind you of something?”

Roman gasped. “The minibar in the house!”

Back when they had just moved into the house they lived in now, they had spent a day just exploring all the nooks and crannies of the house and trying to memorise its layout for later debauchery and mischief. They were about 19 at the time. Roman had found a secret room in the basement: a bar, as it were, that the previous owners had accidentally left a bottle of vodka in. They snuck upstairs to get a bottle of orange juice. Needless to say, they got shitfaced, and they woke up in their beds without a single clue as to how it had happened. 

“Exactly. Ahh, the nostalgia,” Remus sighed. “You know, I never did know how Dad never figured it out. Or how we ended up in our rooms afterwards.”

The bartender had filled up their glasses, so Roman snatched his off the bar and held it up. “To never telling our parents.”

“To never telling our parents.” Roman raised his glass a bit higher, but a flash of purple caught his eye in the reflection of the glass. He turned around. It was the person from before, the one he had seen over the railing. He recognised the dark hair.

He hadn’t seen that they were insanely, indescribably hot.

It was like someone had taken his type and shoved everything he liked into a person. They had black hair with purple highlights, a purple patchwork jacket, and two piercings on their bottom lips that matched the silver chain that adorned their ripped black jeans. He was built in a slight way, the tank top under his jacket showing that he wasn’t scrawny, but rather lean. Roman nearly passed out when he saw the fishnets peeking through the holes in the jeans that stretched all the way down to the Doc Martens he was wearing. 

“ _Roman_ ,” Remus hissed. “You’re staring.”

Roman whipped around.

Remus’ words were pissed, but he was smirking. “So.”

“What?”

“You’re getting engaged in just a bit, but you’re still looking at dudes?”

“Oh, shut up Remus. Look at him.”

Remus’ eyes moved over him appreciatively. “Mmm. I see. So you’re still looking at dudes who are… Jesus, he’s the definition of your type, isn’t he? Well, go talk to him!”

Roman whisper-shouted, “I can’t do that! Besides, whatever happened to the whole ‘you’re getting married in barely two days’ thing?” 

In response, Remus looked at him like a particularly stupid child and waved his hands in a barely-muted gesture, like, _Are you seeing this?_

“God, I know, but…”

“Look at it this way.” Roman met Remus’ eyes to find that he was gazing at Roman with a steady, serious look. “If you hit it off, so be it. Besides, there isn’t a guarantee that you guys will hit it off. But you never know if you don’t try. And if you don’t try, you will regret never engaging with that hot piece of ass. Trust me.”

Roman looked over at him again, at the mysterious stranger who was slouching at the other end of the bar. To his surprise, the stranger looked back. He seemed to give Roman a quick once-over, straightening, opening up his posture. Remus shoved at Roman’s shoulder.

“Okay, I see it now. But what do I say?!” Roman was frankly agonising over it.

“Use a stupid pick up line, I don’t care!” Remus said. “Now, shoo!”

__________

  
Roman approached carefully, and gestured at the open seat next to them. “Is this seat taken?”

The stranger startled a bit, then shook his head. “Go ahead,” he mumbled.

Roman slid into the seat, then fell silent for a moment, tension defining the moment. He settled on what he was going to say. He turned to the stranger. “Hey, can I ask your advice?”

The stranger turned to him, brown eyes wide. “Me? But you don’t know me…”

“That’s why I want to ask you.”

His brows furrowed beneath his purple bangs and he worried his piercings with his teeth. Roman followed the movement with his eyes. “Uh, sure?”

“So hypothetically, if you were at a bar in the Hotel LeVeque and you saw this really cute guy sitting alone and he let you sit next to him, would you ask for his name or his number first? Or would you just introduce yourself to start?” Roman rambled, the words spilling out of him quickly.

“Woah,” he laughed a bit sheepishly. “That’s specific.”

Roman smiled a bit. “Asking for a friend.” He paused. “So, what would you do?”

“I guess I would introduce myself first?”

“Then… Hello.” He smiled wider. “I’m Roman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took so. much. research. about the Hotel LeVeque. But the Keep is actually a bar and the hotel is as described (https://www.hotellevequecolumbus.com/gallery). So there's the pictures if you wanna see!
> 
> This chapter's shoutout goes out to Shay_Nioum and their AMAZING fic called "Just Move" about Logan dancing. It's indescribably cute and it gives me a well-needed dose of serotonin.
> 
> So... how are y'all doing?


End file.
